


Wonderfully Infuriating

by Mildredo



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-09
Updated: 2014-07-09
Packaged: 2018-02-08 03:35:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1925265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mildredo/pseuds/Mildredo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Learning to live together is difficult.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wonderfully Infuriating

Living with Kurt is wonderful. He’s there every morning, rumpled and scruffy, with messy hair and pillow lines on his cheek, squinting against the light and grumpy from lack of caffeine. He’s there at night when the loft has fallen silent, curled up beside him as they whisper their love at each other with heavy eyes. They cook breakfast together on Saturday mornings and go for long walks in the park on Sunday afternoons. They spend evenings browsing wedding magazines and websites, making moodboards and lists, skipping over most of the dresses but carefully creating a collage of bridesmaids dresses to present to Rachel when Kurt asks her to be maid of honor. They study together, testing each other on lines, critiquing song choices, and carefully suggesting that maybe you were just a little pitchy on that last part.

Living with Kurt is infuriating. He forgets how to speak English before he’s had a cup of coffee in the morning, communicating only in grunts, and being around him before that first jolt feels like walking on eggshells spread over very thin ice. One wrong word, movement, breath, and he snaps. He takes more than his fair share of time in the bathroom, letting a queue of roommates form outside, never apologizing, and never having the courtesy to open a damn window. He takes an hour to get dressed on a good day and he treats his clothes better than he treats most humans. He still hasn’t gotten used to sharing his bed and every night he rolls himself into a blanket burrito in his sleep, leaving Blaine shivering and angry and most definitely not asleep. They don’t heat the loft at night to save a little money, and it gets so cold that Blaine has taken to wearing a fluffy elephant onesie, complete with feet and a stuffed trunk attached to the hood, to bed. Kurt hates it, but Blaine refuses to change until Kurt’s subconscious learns that if he keeps up with the blanket-stealing, his fiancé is going to die of exposure.

Living with Blaine is wonderful. There’s dancing in the kitchen and the eternally-promised cookies (and Blaine’s getting better at baking from scratch, the last batch were almost edible). There’s nights spent studying together like they used to have in high school, and there’s nights spent ignoring the books for much more exciting endeavors. They aren’t always that quiet, but making noise makes the vein on Santana’s forehead look like it’s about to burst, and making it go purple and bulging is one of Kurt’s favorite games. On the days that Kurt works late at vogue.com, Blaine is always waiting for him with a shoulder massage and either cocoa or wine, depending on how strained his texts have been that evening. Kurt still isn’t used to the fact that Blaine isn’t just there for a visit, that he won’t be going home again in a few days. He is home.

Living with Blaine is infuriating. He has eighteen thousand polo shirts and two million bowties, and they ran out of closet space so quickly that most of his clothes are stacked in towers of boxes. Every time he tries to find something he has to rifle through them all and make a huge mess, and god forbid he wear a bowtie that isn’t buried somewhere in the depths of the box at the very top of the stack in the corner. He doesn’t wash the gel out of his hair before bed and it leaves sticky marks all over Kurt’s Egyptian cotton pillowcases. He still hasn’t learned how to make coffee exactly how Kurt likes it and he insists on wearing that godawful elephant onesie to bed. Kurt has made detailed plans for the incineration of the abomination, using all of his hair gel as fuel, and it’s just a matter of time before he can’t take it any longer.

Living with Kurt and Blaine is just plain infuriating. If they’re not cooing over their damn wedding scrapbooks, they’re performing their revolting mating rituals in the kitchen, blocking the refrigerator, or sitting squashed into one chair, the car chair, despite its creaking protests. Santana is sure that Kurt has some sort of radar that tells him when she’s near their curtain of depravity just so he can be extra loud and piss her off. The bathroom shelves are twice as full since Blaine moved in, and they were full enough to start with. And the way Blaine parades around in his ridiculous elephant costume makes Santana want to plunge his stupid face into boiling water. And none of that is as bad as the fights. They fight – well, they bicker – all the time, and it always ends in Kurt sulking at one end of the loft, Blaine sulking at the other end, and ten minutes to two hours of pouting and huffing before one of them goes crawling back to the other and the sickening making up begins. No one warned her that living with a couple was going to be this gross. She’s even started spending time with Trouty Mouth, neglected as he is by his BFF having his fiancé to play with again, and she swears those lips have grown.

Although, and she’d never admit it, after everything Hummel’s been though, it is kind of nice to see him so happy, even if it is with the manchild who has a larger collection of both clothes and hair products than she does. And maybe her gagging is sometimes faked, and maybe sometimes she has to turn away quickly when they’re cuddled together in the car chair because her scowl is about to involuntarily turn into a smile. But she’d never admit it.


End file.
